Master Of Elves Ch 03

This is a short chapter. Chapter 4 is another short one but Chapter 5 is a long sex scene that I think is probably pretty good, so hold on for those. I'll drop them at the same time.. Please leave feedback, I'm editing and re-editing as I go, and will appreciate any input. This is my first time, so be gentle. Or don't, I can take some abuse.

Finally, I am looking for an editor.

Enjoy!

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Chapter Three: The Barbarian's Quest

Jorgen made his way downstairs, starving. Nelion called out from his spot behind the bar, waving him over, "good morning barbarian! I hope you had an enjoyable night?"

"I did, thank you. Have you seen Astra? She left me a note, something about training."

"I have, she left an hour ago. She was walking strangely and asked for some willow tea with breakfast. Don't worry now, she had a goofy smile plastered on her face. She was positively glowing. Well done lad."

Trying not to blush again - it was bad enough in front of a goddess - he looked away from the barkeep and mumbled a "thanks," before moving the conversation into less embarrassing territory.

"Astra? Will she be back today?"

"Unfortunately no. Militia training takes the guards across the bay to Harper's point." There's really no room to train on this side of the bay. She'll be gone a week."

"Damn."

"Sorry," the barkeep said sympathetically.

"Ah, no worries. We're not attached or anything. Just friends, I think. I would have liked to see her off, but she must have had her reasons not to wake me."

The barbarian moved to sit at the table nearest the bar. The room was empty of other customers.

Nelion brought over some watered ale and and a basket of bread. "Eggs, ham and fried potatoes be alright?" he asked.

"Sure, thanks."

The barkeep returned quickly and set a huge plate of food on the table.

"I'm guessing by your size that anything less would leave you hungry."

Nodding gratefully, Jorgen dug in. Nelion sat across from him and nursed his own ale.

"What's your plan? I can tell you've got something cooking. I find myself curious."

"Well, I had thought to see the city today.."

"You should, especially the elven buildings the empire has preserved, or in some cases, restored. Their architecture and artisanship is beyond us, even two thousand years later, and truly beautiful."

"But, meeting the elves has moved up my list of things to do. How should I go about that?"

"Well, the fastest route is overland to Elven Pass, then Nathelas. Unfortunately, you won't be allowed to pass."

"Why not?"

"The quarantine, weren't you paying attention?"

"I didn't connect those particular dots at this particular time, is all," said the big man, looking sheepish.

"Hmm. You can't get into Westhaven unless you are an elf, or you get permission from the empress, and the duke."

"The duke?"

"Grand Duke Tiran Asata of Westhaven."

"Ah. That's unlikely. Any other ideas?"

"A boat. Sail around Athea, probably from a port on the west coast, and reach Westhaven by sea. What are you planning to do when you get there?"

"A boat. Hmm. You might call me crazy if I tell you."

"Hit me, I've heard and seen some wild things in my time. I doubt this will phase me."

"Alright. Aleisa asked me to be her champion. She said I need to go see the elves."

The barkeep spit a mouthful of his ale and coughed.

"Sorry. Really?"

"Yeah, in a dream."

"OK. Wow. You're serious. Alright. So, you need a boat. You won't find anyone to take you.

"I suggest joining a caravan to Coldwater, on the west coast of Areis. It's a typical port town with lots of fishermen. It's the nearest significant port to your destination. They use small sail boats for fishing. Can you sail?"

"Yeah if it's anything like the boats we used on lake Valcris. I saw a few here in Areistea harbor and they looked familiar, so if that's typical of Athea I'll do alright."

"Good. The caravans hire guards. I'm sure they'd be happy to take you on."

Jorgen studied the barkeep's deceptively young face, looking for the catch.

"What would I be guarding against?"

"Lions, wolves.."

"Anything else?"

"Well, the route will take you past the Faewyld. You're looking for elves, so that may be a good thing. But they are known to rob the occasional caravan."

The barbarian blinked, trying to process what he was hearing.

"Elves? I thought they were all in Westhaven."

Nelion smiled and sat back, apparently pleased to have a story to tell.

"The Faewyld sits on the northern border of Westhaven. There are some small passes through the mountains that are traversable in small groups, when the weather allows."

"By the way, unless you want your first meeting to be with very hardened elven rangers, I don't recommend that route. They know the land and would happily put an arrow through your skull.

"The tensions along those mountains are high. It's basically a permanent small-scale war between human bandits, feral half-elves, and the elven rangers. With the occasional foray by the Areisian guard."

"Avoid the mountains, got it."

"Right. Anyway, he Faewyld is sparsely populated. A few small human settlements. But there is a population of half elves who choose to pursue the lifestyle of their pure-blooded brethren in Westhaven. The forest there is similar to that on the other side of the mountains, and several villages are predominantly half-elven, or elvish as they sometimes call themselves."

"And you called them 'feral'?"

"Some more than others."

"Half-elves.. I thought all the elven blood was diluted. How are there half elves?"

"The passes. As I mentioned in too much detail last night, the occasional elven woman becomes a little adventurous, and seeks out humans, or half elves, to mate with. 'Half-elf' is shorthand. Some might be three-quarters or even seven-eighths elf.

"The mother, more often than not, leaves her children in the Faewyld to be raised by their father, or by other half-elves. If she is discovered outside Westhaven, she may not be allowed to return. It's a risky proposition. All for sex, or so the stories go.

"Anyway, some of the half-elves raid caravans to supplement their hunting and gathering. The ferals."

"Why wouldn't the mothers be allowed to return?"

"Well, they imprint."

"Ah, of course."

"An imprinted elf may eventually be able to overcome her attachment to a particular human, but will never lose the desire for human men in general. Stronger desire, anyway. All elves have the memories, but experiencing it in the flesh makes those memories immediate, visceral, and irresistible.

"Imprinted elves are seen as impure, and are generally incapable of bonding or procreating with Inorei. It's tragic really. Especially since human men are usually unwilling to settle down with an imprinted elf. If he's caught, the punishment is severe, sometimes fatal. The empire takes the protection of elvenkind seriously."

Jorgen nodded.

"So these elves, or half elves, in the Faewyld, they've had more contact with humans?"

"Yes, it's not a secret that they're there, and the Empire turns a blind eye. They punish humans, not the elvish. Half-elves in the Faewyld exist on the margins, and somewhat outside the law.

"In the Faewyld, which is officially the Faewyld Autonomy, it's only an actual crime for a human - legally anyone less than one-sixteenth elven - to have relations with a pure-blood elf. It's a bit of a loophole. A one-quarter elf is almost as desirable to elven females as a human, and as long as it's in the Faewyld, the empire won't interfere.

"Eventually, if the female Westhaven elves were to stop coming, the population of Faewyld would probably become about the same as the rest of us. Human with elf ancestry."

The barbarian nodded again, absorbing the clear tragedy of the elves' plight.

"So, guard a caravan, dodge half-elves, and get a boat in Coldwater. What next?"

"Head south. You're on your own from there. I can tell you you'll want to pass the mountain range - the Lorei mountains - that ends at the coast. At that point you're in Westhaven territory. Find a place to land I suppose."

"What about elven law inside Westhaven?"

"If you're reported to the Duke in Nathelas, he would notify Areisian agents whose job would be to apprehend you. Or that's the theory. I'm not really sure what the reality is. I don't think the rangers are looking for humans outside of the border areas."

"How do you really know all of this, Nelion?"

"Let's just say I have a little insight into agents of the empire," he said, winking before walking back to the bar.

"I'd best get back to work. Good luck, barbarian."

**

Jorgen did spend a day walking through Areistea. He decided he would regret it if he didn't. The barbarian was no student of architecture, but the elven construction was beautiful. Organic but orderly, artistic but elegantly practical. That was about the best he could do. He did love the sense of the age - ancient - but it also made him a little sad for what must have been.

The human buildings, especially in the nicer areas of the city, were not bad either. The empire had obviously not wanted to build in ways that compared poorly with the elven architecture. The style was different, more pillars and angles, but still beautiful.

There were parks and fountains and other water features, such as the canals. There were markets and shops, guild buildings, temples, imperial buildings, museums, and playhouses, homes with nice yards, large manors, and apartment buildings. He didn't go to the palace.

The streets and roads were well-built and maintained. Jorgen noticed that there were no drainage channels though the streets, nor any drains into the canals could be seen. He didn't smell shit or piss or rotten garbage at all. The northern barbarian thought that was impressive and wondered if it had to do with the 'sewer' he'd heard about.

He saw lampposts along every street with magical lighting balls atop them. He was familiar with the artifacts, but not on this scale.

People walked, used carriages, took small boats on the canals, or rode horses. He saw fancy carriages with signs that indicated you could catch a ride for a silver. He thought that could get very expensive.

The barbarian's overall impression of Areistea was a lively, active city, but not fast-moving. There was a slow timelessness to the place. He would not hate to live there.

As the sun dropped lower in the sky, Jorgen headed back to the port and asked around for information on caravans heading east. An hour later, he found himself in the warehouse office of a man named Berrin.

"So you're saying you're an auxiliary and you'd like to accompany a caravan to Coldwater?"

"That's right. I'm free to use my sword arm as I see fit, as long as I report in if the empire calls us up again. I'm not expecting that. We beat the orcs back pretty hard."

Berrin studied the barbarian.

He was tall, the biggest man he'd ever seen in fact, and heavily muscled. He had an easy-going confidence that screamed 'danger'. His clothes were good quality, underneath well-used leather armor pieces with an Areisian crest on the chest. The armor looked well-maintained. He carried a heavy greatsword, one that he could clearly wield in one hand as needed.

Berrin decided that it would be foolish to turn this man away.

"Pay is one gold per week. The trip is expected to take two weeks. If you're killed we can get your pay to a next of kin. Deal?"

"Deal. When are you leaving?"

"Tomorrow at dawn. Be at the northeast gate."

"Understood."

Tomorrow Jorgen would begin his open-ended quest to see the elves. He thought that sounded like a perfect activity for his afterlife.

***